Percy Jackson and the Lightning Thief
by RiaV
Summary: Percy Jackson, a name that all have known and love. How about if we twist his story a bit, and made him a girl? (full description inside) Fem!Percy X Annabeth
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is a Fem!Percy X Annabeth story, if you see this on Quotev under the name Superwoman then it's mine, if it's under the name somewhere else please tell me.**

 **Description:**

 **Percy Jackson, a name that all have known and love.**

 **How about if we twist his story a bit, and made him a girl?**

 **Percy Jackson had never hated the world more then she did now—after learning Sally Jackson isn't her birth mother and she was born a god, that's the least of her worries now—she's the prime suspect of stealing Zeus' master bolt.**

 **Bring her friends along, the daughter of Poseidon and Artemis has to go through tough stages of her life—betrayal and a new home.**

 **Along the way, she soon realizes she needs to fix the bond of her father and mother who left her with a mortal who could see through the mist very clearly.**

 **Percy Jackson knows how this adventure is going to be—hell is going to take over.**

Being a half blood sucks.

Trust me.

If you're reading this because you think you might be one, my advice is: close this book right now. Believe whatever lie your mom or dad told you about your birth, and try to lead a normal life.

Being a half-blood is _extremely_ dangerous—danger that you, _mortal_ , wouldn't understand. Also, if can get you killed in a nasty, _painful_ and did I mention nasty?, ways.

If you're a normal kid reading this because you think it's fantasy, how much I envy you for being able to believe that _none_ of this ever happened.  
How I wish I was a mortal.

Even if this advice might not help (I'll be honest here, I don't give out the best advice out there) but I'll tell you anyway. If you feel a tingly sensation going on, stop reading immediately. You might be one of us—and if you discover you are one of us, it would be a matter of time before _they_ know too.

Dont say I didn't warn you.

Now that I'm done explaining and being _so_ dramatic, let the introductions up in her.  
My name is Percy Jackson, real name Perseus Achilles Jackson—I think the docoters mistaken me as a boy even though I don't have…the things down in the bottom.

I'm twelve years old, and until a few months ago I was going to a boarding school called Yancy Academy, a private school for troubled kids.

Am I a troubled kid?

You would be insane to say _no_.

I can start anywhere at my short, miserable life to prove it to ya, but out of all the things I could've say I decided _how about I write a book about my life and publish it to the world._  
Ill give you a few examples about my life later.  
Things started going _bad_ last May, when our sixth-grade class took a field trip to Manhattan. Twenty eight mental-case kids and two teachers on a school bus—heading to _Museum of Art_ to look at Ancient Greek and Roman.

I know, it sounds like torture. But like most Yancy School trip—this wasn't any different.  
But Mr. Brunner, our Latin teacher, was here so I had high hopes and tried to be good.

Boy was I whenrong.

Have you ever seen the _bad girl of the school_ try to be _good?_  
That would be a awesome story to write about!  
Oh wait…

Remember earlier when I said was I going to give you a _few_ examples about the terrible things I did. I'm just gonna tell you some what I did on school-trips, cause if I tell you _all_ of them, we're gonna be here for a long-long-long-long-long- _LONG_ time.  
Okay?  
Okay.

My fifth grade, when we went to the Saragota Battle field, I had this accident with a Revolutionary War cannon. I wasn't aiming for the school bus, but of course I got expelled anyway. And before that, at my fourth-grade school, when we took a behind-the-scenes tour of the Marine World shark pool, I sort of hit the wrong lever on the catwalk and our class took an unplanned swim. And the time before that... Well, you get the idea.

Like I said before, I was determined to be good.

How wrong was I.

All the way into the city, I had to put up _Nick Bobofit_ who kept throwing pieces of peanut-butter and ketchup sandwich at my friend—Grover.  
Nick was…cute I guess, but had a terrible personality. When I first step into this school, he made it his goal to make me like him. He had freckles and bright red straight hair that came down into his neck, he was also short.  
He always seem nice to me, but towards my friend, Grover, he was a total ass.

Grover was an easy target. He was scrawny. He cried when he got frustrated. He must've been held back several grades, because he was the only sixth grader with acneand the start of a wispy beard on his chin. On top of all that, he was crippled. He had a note excusing him from PE for the rest of his life because he had some kind of muscular disease in his legs. He walked funny, like every step hurt him, but don't let that fool you. You should've seen him run when it was enchilada day in the cafeteria.

Nick kept throwing sandwich pieces at Grover's curly hair—and he knew that I wouldn't hurt him since I was threaten by the principal.  
Last time he confessed his undying love for me, I was surprised that that I wasn't expelled since he couldn't walk for a week.  
Wait, that sounded wrong. It's not like that dirty-minded people!

"I'm going to kill him." I muttered under my breath as I clenched my hands against my lap. I breathed threw my noise heavily, and a growl erupted from my throat.  
No one messies with Percy Jackson nor her friends. I haven't met _anybody_ who got out of a fight with me unscratched.

Grover saw my anger towards the red-headed boy and immediately tried to calm me down. "It's okay, I like peanut-better."

"With ketchup?" I asked with disgust laced in my voice, I hated peanut-better, I wasn't allergic, I just _loathed_ the taste of them, and ketchup.  
I hate ketchup.

Another piece flew by me, and it was enough to set me off. "That's it," I _literally_ growled, I would've thought it was a wild animal if I didn't feel my throat vibrate.  
He pulled me down by the scruff of my jacket collar, "you're already on probation." He reminded me. "You know who'll get blamed if anything happens."

I wish I decked him earlier.

* * *

Time Skip to the fight

* * *

I was about to unwrap my lunch when Nick Bobofit appeared in front of him with his gang behind him. He dumped the rest of his lunch on Grover, and smiled with his crooked teeth "oops".

I tried to stay calm, the school counselor told me about hundred times: _take a deep breath and count to ten._  
But I'll never stay calm if you make a fool out of my friends.  
I don't remember pushing him, but the next thing you know he's in the water fountain crying and yelled "Percy pushed me!".  
He'll even blame me, his crush, to himself out of trouble.  
What an asshole.

Ms. Dodds came stalking towards us, and once she made sure poor Nick was alright she glared at me. I ignored the whispers, but two caught my attention.  
 _The water grabbed him._

Did you see her eyes glow silver?

She pointed her crooked finger at me, "Now honey—"

I glared harshly at her, and it made me feel somehow better when she flinched. "I know," I admitted defeat as she was the evil teacher I hated. "A month erasing workbooks."  
That wasn't the right thing to say.

Her expression visibly said she was irritated. Even when Grover tried to convince her, she wasn't having any of it.  
I was deep in thought, but I notice she was already waiting at the doors for. How did she get up there so fast? It didn't matter now.

Halfway up the stairs, I glanced back at Grover to make sure he was okay, but he didn't notice it, he kept looking at Mr. Brunner and me, like he wanted to notice that I was following Ms. Dodds.  
He was to into his novel to notice though.

I sent him a crooked smile, but then glared at Nick as he mouthed _sorry_ towards me. I still don't like him, he had a nasty personality even though he does sweet things to me. He doesn't treat my friend(s) with respect, he can forget about it.

I disappeared in the museum, following Ms. Dodds.

 _Maybe she's gonna make me by a new shirt for Nick?_  
That obviously wasn't the plan.

When I finally caught up to her, we were back in the Greek and Roman section.

Except for us, the gallery was empty.

Mrs. Dodds stood with her arms crossed in front of a big marble frieze of the Greek gods. She was making this weird noise in her throat, like growling.

"You've been giving us problems honey," she said. I was about to make a snarky comeback, but held my tongue back. I didn't feel safe around her, at all.  
I did the safe thing and replied with a "yes ma'am."

She tugged on the cuffs of her leather jacket, "did you really think you could get away with it?"  
The look in her eyes was beyond evil, madness.

Beads of sweat started forming at the crown of my head as my hands slightly shook, I was nervous. _She's a teacher,_ I thought nervously. _She's not gonna hurt me._

I was wrong.

"I-I'll try harder ma'am." I didn't exactly _know why_ I was nervous, something just screamed at me to run away from her.  
I wished I listen.

Thunder shook the building.

"We are not fools, Perseus Achilles Jackson," she growled. "It was only a matter of time we find you out—confess and you will suffer less pain."

I had no clue what she was talking about.

All I could think of was that the teachers must've found the illegal stash of candy I'd been selling out of my dorm room. Or maybe they'd realized I got my essay on Tom Sawyer from the Internet without ever reading the book and now they were going to take away my grade. Or worse, they were going to make me _read_ the _book_.

"Well?" She demanded.

"Ma'am I don't—"

"Your time is up." She hissed at me, I swear—she is secretly a snake!

Then the weirdest thing happened. Her eyes began to glow like barbecue coals. Her fingers stretched, turning into talons. Her jacket melted into large, leathery wings. She wasn't human. She was a shriveled hag with bat wings and claws and a mouth full of yellow fangs, and she was about to slice me to ribbons.

Then things got _even_ stranger, I know—I was surprised too if things got even more _stranger_ then _that_. Likewise, I was proven wrong.

Mr. Brunner, who'd been out in front of the museum a minute before, wheeled his chair into the doorway of the gallery, holding a pen in his hand.

"What ho, Percy!" he shouted, and tossed the pen through the air.

Ms. Dodds thought that very moment was the best to lung at me. What did she do?

She lunged at me.

With a yelp, I dodged and felt With a yelp, I dodged and felt talons slash the air next to my ear. I snatched the ballpoint pen out of the air, but when it hit my hand, it wasn't a pen anymore. It was a sword—Mr. Brunner's bronze sword, which he always used on tournament day.

Mrs. Dodds spun toward me with a murderous look in her eyes.

My knees were jelly. My hands were shaking so bad I almost dropped the sword.

She snarled, "Die, honey!"

And she flew straight at me.

Absolute terror ran through my body. I did the only thing that came naturally: I swung the sword. (Still wondering till this day if that's natural).

Mrs. Dodds was a sand castle in a power fan. She exploded into yellow powder, vaporized on the spot, leaving nothing but the smell of sulfur and a dying screech and a chill of evil in the air, as if those two glowing red eyes were still watching me.

I was alone.

There was a ballpoint pen in my hand.

Mr. Brunner wasn't there. Nobody was there but me.

My hands were still trembling. My lunch must've been contaminated with magic mushrooms or something.

Had I imagined the whole thing?

I went back outside.

It was pouring.

Grover was sitting by the fountain, a museum map tented over his head. Nick Bobofit was still standing there, soaked from his swim in the fountain, grumbling to his ugly friends. When he saw me, he said, "I hope Mrs. Kerr whipped your butt."

"Who?" I asked.

"Our teacher!" He was definitely a bipolar.

I blinked, and for the first time, asked Nick if he was okay—then immediately added, "gotta make sure you're not going down the path Harley Quinn took."

He glared at me and resumed talking to his friends.

I walked over to Grover and asked the same question. I had to make sure I didn't killed our math teacher and was seeing things, but if you have Grover as a friend, even if you're a stranger to him—you'll know that he isn't the best liar in the world.  
"Who?" He said, but he paused at first, like he was thinking of it. He hesitated.

"Not funny, man," I told him. "This is serious."

Thunder boomed overhead.

I saw Mr. Brunner sitting under his red umbrella, reading his book, as if he'd never moved.

I went over to him.

He looked up, a little distracted. "Ah, that would be my pen. Please bring your own writing utensil in the future, Ms. Jackson."

I handed Mr. Brunner his pen. I hadn't even realized I was still holding it.

"Sir," I said, "where's Mrs. Dodds?"

He stared at me blankly. "Who?"

"The other chaperone. Mrs. Dodds. The pre-algebra teacher."

He frowned and sat forward, looking mildly concerned. "Percy, there is no Mrs. Dodds on this trip. As far as I know, there has never been a Mrs. Dodds at Yancy Academy. Are you feeling all right?"


	2. Chapter 2

I was strangely used to occasional weird experience (now I realized that isn't healthy), they almost happen everyday to me—but they end quickly.

But this is more than I can handle, for the rest of the school, everyone seem to gang up on and play tricks. They acted like they were completely convinced that Mrs. Kerr, a perky and annoying teacher, have been on pre-algebra teacher since Christmas.

Sometimes I would ask someone about Ms. Dodds, to see if I can get something out of them—but they would stare at me like I was a psycho.

I _almost_ believed them, I _almost_ believed that my mind was playing tricks on me, I even _almost_ believed that my sanity was slowly creeping away and I image that there was a Ms. Dodds.

 _Almost_.

But Grover couldn't fool, heck, he should be animated for the worst liar in the world—even a deaf person could tell he was lying (no offense to you deaf people out there).  
It was quite easy to figure out actually, ever time I mention the name Dodds he would give a silent shiver, then hesitate and then claim she didn't exist—plus, he didn't meet my eyes.

I knew I wasn't going insane, I knew something was going on.

Something had happened at the museum.

I didn't have much time to think about strangely, but when I go to sleep—I have visions of Mrs. Dodds with talons and leathery wings and sharp claws that looked ready to claw my eyes out.  
Then I woke up in cold sweat.

This wasn't suppose to bother me, the nightmares stopped when I was an eight-year old kid—but it seem it had enough of its vacation and it's back to torture me.  
How delightful.

The weather continued, it didn't help my mood—it actually seemed to match it at the moment.  
One night, a thunderstorm was so strong that it blew out the windows in my dorm. A few days later, the largest tornado ever seen was spotted in Hudson Balley, touched only fifty miles from Yancy Academy.

I was starting to feel cranky, it wasn't better when my _time of month_ came along to join either. My grades slipped from B's to D's and F's, I got into even more fights with Nick and his friends; along with some of the other guys and girls. I was sent into the hallway in most of my classes.

My English teacher, Mr. Nicole, ask me why I was so lazy to study for the spelling tests.

I snapped.

I called him some bad things that I wouldn't dare repeat myself (got two month detention for it), one of the things I called him was an old sot, didn't know what it meant but it made me feel good.

The headmaster sent my step-mother a letter the following week—making it official. I would not be attending Yancy Academy next.

 _Fine,_ I told myself. _Just fine._ I was homesick anyway.

I wanted to be with my mom in our apartment on the Upper East Side, even if I had to put with with public schools and the pig that lived with us and his idiotic poker parties.

And yet... there were things I'd miss at Yancy. The view of the woods out my dorm window, the Hudson River in the distance, the smell of pine trees. I'd miss Grover, who'd been a good friend, even if he was a little strange. I worried how he'd survive next year without me.

I'd miss Latin class, too—Mr. Brunner's crazy tournament days and his faith that I could do well.

The exam week got closer, Latin was the _only_ test u studied for. I haven't forgotten what Mr. Brunner told me about this subject bringing life-and-death for me, I didn't know when it started, but I started to believe him.

It was evening, I got angry at the Cambridge Guide toGreek Mythology, and threw it across my dorm room. Words had started swimming off the page, circling my head, the letters doing one-eighties as if they were riding skateboards.  
There was no way I was going to remember the difference between Chiron and Charon, or Polydictes and Polydeuces. And conjugating those Latin verbs? Forget it.

I paced the room, lost in my own world.

I remembered Mr. Brunner's serious expression, his thousand-year-old eyes. _I will accept only the best from you, Percy Jackson._

I took a deep breath, and grabbed my flannel and tied it around my waist and walked over to the mythology book.

I never asked a teacher for help before, I was too prideful. Maybe if I explained things to Brunner, he could give me some pointers. I didn't want to leave Yancy letting him think I didn't try.

I walked down stairs to the offices, almost all of them were dark and empty, expect Mr. Brunner's. It was slightly opened, even if it was closed you could tell people were still in their because of the light.

I was about three steps away from the door—when I heard voices inside the office. Mr. Brunner asked a question, I could make out a another voice, it was Grover's. "... worried about Percy, sir

I froze.

I'm not usually an eavesdropper, but I dare you to try not listening if you hear your best friend talking about you to an adult.

I inched closer.

"... alone this summer," Grover was saying. "I mean, a Kindly One in the school! Now that we know for sure, and they know too—"

"We would only make matters worse by rushing her," Mr. Brunner said. "We need the girl to mature more, even if she is more mature then natural."

"But she may not have time. The summer solstice deadline— "

"Will have to be resolved without her, Grover. Let her enjoy her ignorance while she still can."

"Sir, she saw her... ."

"Her imagination," Mr. Brunner insisted. "The Mist over the students and staff will be enough to convince her of that."

"Sir, I ... I can't fail in my duties again." Grover's voice was choked with emotion. "You know what that would mean."

"You haven't failed, Grover," Mr. Brunner said kindly. "I should have seen her for what she was. Now let's just worry about keeping Percy alive until next fall—"

The mythology book dropped out of my hand and hit the floor with a thud.

Mr. Brunner went silent.

My heart hammering, I picked up the book and backed down the hall.

A shadow slid across the lighted glass of Brunner's office door, the shadow of something much taller than my wheelchair-bound teacher, holding something that looked suspiciously like an archer's bow.

I opened the nearest door and slipped inside.

A few seconds later I heard a slow clop-clop-clop, like muffled wood blocks, then a sound like an animal snuffling right outside my door. A large, dark shape paused in front of the glass, then moved on.

A bead of sweat trickled down my neck.

Somewhere in the hallway, Mr. Brunner spoke. "Nothing," he murmured. "My nerves haven't been right since the winter solstice."

"Mine neither," Grover said. "But I could have sworn ..."

"Go back to the dorm," Mr. Brunner told him. "You've got a long day of exams tomorrow."

"Don't remind me."

The lights went out in Mr. Brunner's office.

I waited in the dark for what seemed like forever.

Finally, I slipped out into the hallway and made my way back up to the dorm.

I didn't understand what I'd heard downstairs. I wanted to believe I'd imagined the whole thing.

But one thing was clear: Grover and Mr. Brunner were talking about me behind my back. They thought I was in some kind of danger.

The next afternoon, as I was leaving the three-hour Latin exam, my eyes locked with all the Greek and Roman names I'd misspelled, Mr. Brunner called me back inside.

For a moment, I was worried he'd found out about my eavesdropping the night before, but that didn't seem to be the problem.

"Percy," he said. "Don't be discouraged about leaving Yancy. It's ... it's for the best."

His tone was kind, but the words still embarrassed me. Even though he was speaking quietly, the other kids finishing the test could hear. Nick Bobofit smirked at me and made sarcastic little kissing motions with his lips. Even if he did liked, I could tell the crush on me was going away and it was soon being taken over by hate.  
I wished he could've realized that way sooner.

I mumbled, "Okay, sir."

"I mean ..." Mr. Brunner wheeled his chair back and forth, like he wasn't sure what to say. "This isn't the right place for you. It was only a matter of time."

My eyes stung.

Here was my favorite teacher, in front of the class, telling me I couldn't handle it. After saying he believed in me all year, now he was telling me I was destined to get kicked out. I wasn't one to show emotions, so I made my face blank.

"Right," I said, I was shaking inside.

"No, no," Mr. Brunner said. "Oh, confound it all. What I'm trying to say ... you're not normal, Percy. That's nothing to be—"

"Thanks," I blurted. "Thanks a lot, sir, for reminding me."

"Percy—"

But I was already gone.

On the last day of the term, I shoved my clothes into my suitcase.

The other girls were gossiping around, talking about their vacation plans. One of them was going on a hiking trip to Switzerland. Another was cruising the Caribbean for a month. They were juvenile delinquents, like me, but they were rich juvenile delinquents. Their daddies were executives, or ambassadors, or celebrities. I was a nobody, from a family of nobodies.

They asked me what I'd be doing this summer and I told them I was going back to the city.

What I didn't tell them was that I'd have to get a summer job walking dogs or selling magazine subscriptions, and spend my free time worrying about where I'd go to school in the fall.

"Oh," one of the girls said. "That's cool."

They went back to their conversation as if I'd never existed.

The only person I dreaded saying good-bye to was Grover, but as it turned out, I didn't have to. He'd booked a ticket to Manhattan on the same Greyhound as I had, so there we were, together again, heading into the city. I was a little creeped out, but I didn't say anything—in fear that I would hurt his feelings.

During the whole bus ride, Grover kept glancing nervously down the aisle, watching the other passengers. It occurred to me that he'd always acted nervous and fidgety when we left Yancy, as if he expected something bad to happen. Before, I'd always assumed he was worried about getting teased. But there was nobody to tease him on the Greyhound.

Finally I couldn't stand it anymore.

I said, "Looking for Kindly Ones?"

Grover nearly jumped out of his seat. "Wha—what do you mean?"

I confessed about eavesdropping on him and Mr. Brunner the night before the exam.

Grover's eye twitched. "How much did you hear?"

"Oh ... not much. What's the summer solstice dead-line?"

He winced. "Look, Percy ... I was just worried for you, see? I mean, hallucinating about demon math teachers ..."

"Grover—"

"And I was telling Mr. Brunner that maybe you were overstressed or something, because there was no such person as Mrs. Dodds, and ..."

"Grover, you're a really, really bad liar."

His ears turned pink.

From his shirt pocket, he fished out a grubby business card. "Just take this, okay? In case you need me this summer.

The card was in fancy script, which was murder on my dyslexic eyes, but I finally made out something like:

Grover Underwood

Keeper

Half-Blood Hill

Long Island, New York

(800) 009-0009

"What's Half—"

"Don't say it aloud!" he yelped. "That's my, um ... summer address."

My heart sank. Grover had a summer home. I'd never considered that his family might be as rich as the others at Yancy.

"Okay," I said glumly. "So, like, if I want to come visit your mansion."

He nodded. "Or ... or if you need me."

"Why would I need you?"

It came out harsher than I meant it to.

Grover blushed right down to his Adam's apple. "Look, Percy, the truth is, I—I kind of have to protect you."

I stared at him.

All year long, I'd gotten in fights, keeping bullies away from him. I'd lost sleep worrying that he'd get beaten up next year without me. And here he was acting like he was the one who defended me.

"Grover," I said, "what exactly are you protecting me from?"

There was a huge grinding noise under our feet. Black smoke poured from the dashboard and the whole bus filled with a smell like rotten eggs. The driver cursed and limped the Greyhound over to the side of the highway.

After a few minutes clanking around in the engine compartment, the driver announced that we'd all have to get off. Grover and I filed outside with everybody else.

We were on a stretch of country road—no place you'd notice if you didn't break down there. On our side of the highway was nothing but maple trees and litter from passing cars. On the other side, across four lanes of asphalt shimmering with afternoon heat, was an old-fashioned fruit stand.

The stuff on sale looked really good: heaping boxes of bloodred cherries and apples, walnuts and apricots, jugs of cider in a claw-foot tub full of ice. There were no customers, just three old ladies sitting in rocking chairs in the shade of a maple tree, knitting the biggest pair of socks I'd ever seen.

I mean these socks were the size of sweaters, but they were clearly socks. The lady on the right knitted one of them. The lady on the left knitted the other. The lady in the middle held an enormous basket of electric-blue yarn.

All three women looked ancient, with pale faces wrinkled like fruit leather, silver hair tied back in white bandannas, bony arms sticking out of bleached cotton dresses.

The weirdest thing was, they seemed to be looking right at me.

I looked over at Grover to say something about this and saw that the blood had drained from his face. His nose was twitching.

"Grover?" I said. "Hey, man—"

"Tell me they're not looking at you. They are, aren't they?"

"Yeah. Weird, huh? You think those socks would fit me?"

"Not funny, Percy. Not funny at all."

The old lady in the middle took out a huge pair of scissors—gold and silver, long-bladed, like shears. I heard Grover catch his breath.

"We're getting on the bus," he told me. "Come on."

"What?" I said. "It's a thousand degrees in there."

"Come on!'" He pried open the door and climbed inside, but I stayed back.

Across the road, the old ladies were still watching me. The middle one cut the yarn, and I swear I could hear that snip across four lanes of traffic. Her two friends balled up the electric-blue socks, leaving me wondering who they could possibly be for—Sasquatch or Godzilla.

At the rear of the bus, the driver wrenched a big chunk of smoking metal out of the engine compartment. The bus shuddered, and the engine roared back to life.

The passengers cheered.

"Darn right!" yelled the driver. He slapped the bus with his hat. "Everybody back on board!"

Once we got going, I started feeling feverish, as if I'd caught the flu.

Grover didn't look much better. He was shivering and his teeth were chattering.

"Grover?"

"Yeah?"

"What are you not telling me?"

He dabbed his forehead with his shirt sleeve. "Percy, what did you see back at the fruit stand?"

"You mean the old ladies? What is it about them, man? They're not like ... Mrs. Dodds, are they?"

His expression was hard to read, but I got the feeling that the fruit-stand ladies were something much, much worse than Mrs. Dodds. He said, "Just tell me what you saw."

"The middle one took out her scissors, and she cut the yarn."

He closed his eyes and made a gesture with his fingers that might've been crossing himself, but it wasn't. It was something else, something almost—older.

He said, "You saw her snip the cord."

"Yeah. So?" But even as I said it, I knew it was a big deal.

"This is not happening," Grover mumbled. He started chewing at his thumb. "I don't want this to be like the last time."

"What last time?"

"Always sixth grade. They never get past sixth."

"Grover," I said, because he was really starting to scare me. "What are you talking about?"

"Let me walk you home from the bus station. Promise me."

This seemed like a strange request to me, but I promised he could.

"Is this like a superstition or something?" I asked.

No answer.

"Grover—that snipping of the yarn. Does that mean somebody is going to die?"

He looked at me mournfully, like he was already picking the kind of flowers I'd like best on my coffin


End file.
